Dear Diary... I Quit!

After my vacation... Nothing seemed any better at work. I was just as disillusioned, cynical, sick of it, as before, and more so. There was another incident with one of my supervisors... I think I have largely managed not to speak of those here, though I thought about it. Simply put, two of the supervisors I work under have repeatedly treated me and spoken to me with disrespect I am just not willing to put up with... From the tasks I am assigned to and when, to how they respond if ever I question anything they've done.

Not long before my vacation, for example, I got a face full of really bad attitude just for asking, and trying to do it politely, where my supervisor had been, as I had not managed to catch sight of her on the sales floor for the past twenty minutes. I am not claiming necessarily that she was not there; I focus on my work while I am working, and people can sometimes come and go without me noticing them, but there was a point when I was looking for her actively, to deal with something that required a supervisor, and could not find her. I got no answer, just assertions that she knew what she was doing, for my information. Of course, the problem was that I didn't. Know what she was doing, that is. Or where she could be found.

This example is on the extreme end, but archetypal. I have brought up my issues with management before... The result tended to be that some meeting was had, behavior improved for about two weeks, and then everything slowly returned to the way it had been, disrespect included.

This has not been the only problem I've had with my job, that's made me more and more irritable with work since last September, but it's one of the easiest ones to remember and brood over, and after the newest incident, which I will not detail here, I decided I had had too much already, and was not prepared to take any more.

So I came in on a day I was not working for a meeting with the management. I asked to be placed in the processing room instead of in sales, exclusively and as soon as possible. Several days later when the head manager was available to talk to me, she explained to me politely why she would be unable to transfer me exclusively as I had requested. And I responded by stating politely that I would like to officially resign from my position. I had a resignation letter penned, signed, dated and in her mailbox the same day.

I have worked two shifts since then. After all, it's legal imperative and good form to give two weeks notice before actually leaving. Those two days, I've had a lightness in my step and a glee in my heart. Several customers have commented on my excellent customer service, and one even bought me a coffee. I am very glad to be leaving.

Funnily enough, both of my problem supervisors reacted with shock when I told them I was quitting, and almost immediately asked, "But why?". I kept diplomatically silent or evasive. I'm escaping from my troubles there, no need to make a scene and make enemies. It's not as though it's a secret that I've had troubles with them, but my experiences have told me that they don't accept or listen to direct criticism, so it doesn't seem there's any point in confronting them. It would be a waste of my time and energy.

Instead, I've been fantasizing and dreaming in my head about business ideas I would love to bring to fruition, and how. I don't actually think about college itself that much yet; I'm sure I will as September gets closer. I hope I will keep dreaming and fantasizing and fleshing out my plans, though, up until college and all the way through it. My studies should teach me enough practical skills to get those dreams started. I will likely begin some of the early steps while I am schooling. I look forward to it, and again and again I repeat to myself how much more skilled and more competent I've become. I don't have to put up with disrespect or answer to bosses who won't answer to me. I could find a better place to work, but I think I'd rather make one. I am already reading books that should help me.

The plot is afoot.

What's The Point, Then?

I went to see my doctor this morning. It was not exactly an effortless task to do so. I woke early, stumbled through my familiar stupor of exhaustion; for once a little more reasonable - I actually did not get a full night of sleep last night. I spent quite some time stomping around trying to find the four or five books I haven't read yet by my favorite author that a friend gave me at Christmas, and failed, so reluctantly chose something else. I pulled on my clothes, drank some juice and went out to wait for the bus.

I let the first one pass me by, purely because I didn't even realize that route went where I wanted to go and would have taken me there faster. But nevertheless, I caught the bus I expected to catch, arrived on time, signed in, was weighed, and the doctor saw me with little delay.

I told her about my troubles, my worryingly overemphasized exhaustion, here for the third time in as many months for a prolonged and inexplicable stay, and answered her questions. No, my mood doesn't seem to be particularly out of the ordinary, though it does suffer from the fatigue, as I have less patience when I am tired. My sleep has been more or less as it always is so far as I can tell, except that it doesn't satisfy me, and I need more than a regular full night of it not to feel exhausted when I wake. No, I haven't noticed any other symptoms of sickness, save that my muscles feel weaker and seem to heal slower, but that seems to be just a symptom of being overtired. My digestion is bad, but it always is. My back is sore, and seems to bother me with flashes of pain more often when I straighten up from crouching or bending, but that isn't new, just getting worse.

My iron levels, red blood cell count, and various other suspect factors were tested not even a month ago, and all came up normal. My fatigue does vaguely coincide with my menstrual cycle, but I have never suffered nor heard of PMS that made sleep stop working properly.

Her expression when I continued to ask if she could offer me any explanation that the evidence before us did not contradict bore a mix between concern and offense. She explained patronizingly that there was some concern about "over-investigation" and that she could not be expected just to prescribe some medication and send me on my way for every hardship. I did not appreciate the implication that I was just fishing for drugs or a miracle patch.

All the obvious answers having been exhausted, and physiotherapy being expensive for someone without employment medical coverage, she told me simply to keep doing the exercise I am putting a good deal of effort into doing already, but to do it more often, and dismissed me.

And here I thought that what doctors were good for aside from being the only people allowed to prescribe medication where it is needed, was knowing or having access to databases that would allow them to find out explanations for maladies beyond what is at this point common fucking sense.

Now my temper is smouldering like a coal, making the inside of my head uncomfortably hot and stuffy. My temper is worse when I am tired.

Hey.

I thought since I've been thinking about trying to blow the cover way off of my unintended internet secrecy, maybe I should write a greeting to anyone who clicks in search of more information.

I grew up in poverty in rural Ontario to a narcissistic mother and a father who was, and remains, a resourceful practitioner of simple sciences (heating, plumbing, welding, building makeshift insulated chicken shelters for winter out of old freezers and other junk, you name it) and a natural hermit. They've been split up and lived in two different places since I was, I think, two years old.

For most of my childhood, I split my time between their two households: one an old house on a hill on the outskirts of a village of 700 people, at least according to the sign; and the other a farm of sorts in a swampy wood - or a wooded swamp, whichever you prefer to think of it as, 10 km outside of that town.

I was bullied horribly through elementary school and high school, and grew up longing to travel and tell stories, to inspire and to educate. As soon as I graduated high school, I left home on an airplane and went overseas in search of love.

Since then I've traveled around quite a lot. I've hitch-hiked, and I've also taken a week long bus trip that stretched a great big diagonal line across Canada including a two day layover in Winnipeg, where I spent the night on the roof of a multi-level car park with a drunken hobo sleeping on my clothes.

For the last few years, I've settled a little bit in London. I guess I'm trying to find some sanity and repair the broken parts of myself so that the next time I head out, I won't be running away so much as charging out into the fray. This time, I hope I'll be leaving behind a safe, happy home base that I'll feel comfortable coming back to.

I know what it means not to have an established place to go, and I can tell you that having no place is better than being trapped in a terrible place. I know how it is to scavenge and scrounge, to keep a supply of water bottled from public fountains and bathroom sinks, get food only where I can get it for free, and I can tell you that you might be surprised the good food and respect you can get for nothing more than a little humility and the willingness to ask for help.

I have never begged strangers for anything, except directions, change to use a payphone and a token to ride a bus or a train.

I have sat with an instrument on a sidewalk and played for tips, though.

As my day job, I work in a thrift store operated by Goodwill.

I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing with my life yet. Hopefully, whatever it ends up being, it will involve a lot of poetry.

Pubic Hair

written on August 7th, 2014
& inspired by Ani DiFranco

When I'm in the bathroom
I have a way of wiping myself
that has a habit of plucking out pubic hairs on
just one side of my groin
And I could probably learn to change it
if I could see what I was doing
but for now I guess I'll live with it;
It's not important,
It's just annoying.


When something is pulled away
Oh time will ease the pain
When something is pulled away
Oh time will ease the pain


Ain't it funny how the little things
in life just get passed by
like the hangnails you pull off sometimes
and the crusty stuff that gets in your eye
There are some things we don't talk about
Things we would rather not discuss
And the silence just fades into the background
-until somebody has to die
!

Then suddenly all of the silence
comes crashing down around your ears
and you can scream and wail all you want to but
Nobody wants to hear
There are some things you don't mention
except alone and in quiet prayer
While lives get plucked from the human race like
Just so many pubic hairs


And every time we do not speak
We fill our world with silence
And every time we turn away
We fill our world with silence
And every thing we don't discuss
We fill our world with silence
And the silence will cover our graves


So when I'm in a dark room
I have a way of crying to myself
that has a habit of making the skin
around my eyes feel raw and burned
And I think we could learn to change this
If we could see enough to care
I just hope to god we learn
that some things are more important
than a hair


When something is pulled away,
(Every time we do not speak)
Oh time will ease the pain
(We fill our world with silence)
When something is pulled away,
(Every time we turn away)
Oh time will ease the pain
(We fill our world with silence)
When something is pulled away
(Every thing we don't discuss)
Oh time will ease the pain
(We fill our world with silence)
And the silence will cover our graves


And suddenly all of the silence
comes crashing down around your ears
and you can scream and wail all you want to but
Nobody wants to hear you 'cuz
There are some things you don't question,
except alone and in quiet prayer
while screams are brushed aside
like so many stray pubes on our underwear


Ain't it funny how the little things
in life just get passed by
like the hangnails I pull off sometimes and the
rash that crying leaves 'round my eyes
There are some things we don't talk about
Things we'd all rather not discuss
No matter how much or how little
they quietly affect all of us
And the silence just fades into the background
along with the best of us


When something is pulled away
Ah time will ease the pain
When something is pulled away
Ah time will ease the pain

~~~P.S: My own thoughts on presentation...

The parts in purple should be sung or spoken more quietly, more like a whisper,
and ideally blend into a sort of musical break between the sections in black.

Would like to have guest backup voice/s for
"We fill our world with silence" and possibly for all of the parts in purple,
while still singing/speaking solo the parts in black. Or white, as it generally appears on my blog.

The Art of Frugality

Of Poverty I was Made, and I Know the Art of Frugality.

Excerpts from a conversation on July 10th

My secret on saving? Well, primarily, I suppose, it's a combination of two things. Firstly, keeping expenses low, and secondly, putting my savings away in a distinct account and treating it as different from the rest of my budget - once I put money into my tax free savings account, I do not take it out again unless I really need to in order to cover necessities like groceries, rent and laundry. I try to put $100 into my savings account every paycheque, if I can, which is twice a month. To be fair, a large chunk of my savings also came from my tax refund this year. Goodwill employees get a free tax preparation with H&R Block, and my refund was modestly impressive, perhaps in part because I was only employed for half the year, and that only part time at minimum wage. I suppose I can claim it is to my credit that I was responsible enough to save the extra money instead of finding some personal fancy to spend it on.

I could also share some of the things I do to keep expenses low: I entertain myself with low- to no-cost hobbies like watching YouTube, playing inexpensive video games and collecting images from various sources, then making them into tokens compatible with the Maptool program (I'm sure to most other people, it would be boring busywork, but I enjoy it). I buy cheaper brands and types of food supplies and do some cooking with simple ingredients. I keep a casual eye out for decent sales on practical necessities like toilet paper, soap, shampoo, etc, and buy non-perishables when they are very cheap even if I don't need them yet. It helps that I work at a thrift store, where I can find a lot of useful things at low prices, like clothing, utensils, dishes... even furniture and a vacuum cleaner.

I also, incidentally, have a habit of collecting potentially useful things when I can buy them for a dollar or two at the Goodwill where I work, including: shoelaces, pencils, soap, spare earbud headphones, an extra USB mouse, greeting cards and notebooks (I have long since reached the point of confessing to myself that I collect stationery not so much out of a genuine belief I will use it all but as a little hobby because I like to), gift wrap, and generic presents or gifts suitable for friends of mine.

Heck, I'm a scavenger by nature. That helps too.

I rarely buy clothing or shoes, because I recognize that I have enough of both, and I have a habit of preferring to wear my clothing and shoes until they are ruined, in order to feel I have gotten full use out of them. An exception is socks, which I buy occasionally from the thrift store and have a large collection of stored away for the future, many of which I have never worn. There is a reason for this. With socks as well, I like to wear them out, and so there are a large number of pairs of socks I am doggedly trying to wear until they get holes in so that I can get them out of circulation. There is another reason. From time to time, especially before I started taking my mood-balancing medication, I used to wear a brand new pair of socks as a way to treat myself if I was having a hard day and wanted to go easier on myself than normal, or just felt in need of a little bit of luxury. I still occasionally do this, which puts a new pair into circulation. I only ever choose to wear a pair of socks I have never worn before with careful consideration. There's just something special about it.

I think one of the vital things I do is leave myself a buffer in my budget for little treats and shortcuts. New socks are wonderful, but sometimes one needs more to cheer one up, like eating out at Subway for a meal, or picking up a coffee at Tim Hortons during my lunch break at work. I strongly suspect that some people fail by telling themselves they won't spend money on these kinds of extras, and using it all up, then finding that the temptation is too great and spending money they don't have anymore on extras anyway. Then they feel guilty. Why feel guilty? I give myself permission to get treats from time to time, and I budget accordingly, saving a fair amount of my day to day budget for little pick-me-ups and also unexpected needs - like having to replace something that breaks, or buy cough medicine and throat lozenges, for instance. And if I turn out not to need it all, great! That just means I have more money for next month, and maybe I can afford to get something really neat! Or make a donation to somebody or something I want to support.

One Man's Trash

I stayed up all night again. This time it isn't Puppy's fault, though he contributed, for the last few hours of it. I wanted to make sure to be up for an event that was happening today right on my block: the Impact Junk Solutions Open House. The company is a garbage removal service, but it seems that when they pick up trash that isn't as trashy as usual and may be of interest to someone, they stash it in their warehouse and occasionally let anyone who is in need of furniture or other household goods come with their cars, trailers, or on foot, and take away anything they would like from the collection of thrown-away items. I've been needing furniture since moving in, so naturally, I went. I was not disappointed with what I found. The staff helped me load some furniture I could not have carried into a shopping cart to trundle home and back.

Not everything made it inside in one piece, sadly. A nice chest of drawers I'd found took too much shock to the joints while I was awkwardly maneuvering the heavy thing down the stairs by myself, and the frame came apart, nails and screws having been jarred loose. One of the nubby plastic legs also broke. The drawers themselves and the rollers, though, are completely sound. I think with a hammer and some new nails, and perhaps a pair of pliers, I can salvage it and return it to stability and usefulness, though it won't be as pretty as it was, due to places in the sides where the nails ripping away tore chunks off the edge of the particle board.

More successful was the transport of a rather tall and skinny little wooden desk, with four drawers in it. It lost a strip of surface false wood texture on one side of the top, and got slightly scuffed, but is still very pretty and perfectly stable and solid, as a desk should be. I brought home a short, shabby office chair and a thick pillow to raise the effective level of the seat, too, and now I actually have a functional chair and desk for my ridiculous excuse for a laptop... and for a better one, once I am able to get one.

One more piece of furniture was amongst my loot, a squat, slightly bulky end table with a single hollow storage space inside, accessed by decoratively carved double doors, made to look like dark red wood and also good and stable.

Other items I brought home (that made it without breaking):
2 candle holders
1 large red candle
1 plastic basket
1 woven basket
1 dollar store travel mug that seems new
2 large stacking paper trays
1 square cookie tin
1 nearly new board game of uncertain entertainment value called "HearMeOut!"
5 garish pink striped bedsheets
2 garish pink patterned pillowcases
1 long peach curtain
2 other bedsheets
1 other pillowcase
1 small pink throw blanket
11 saucers
9 large plates
4 small plates
2 teacups
2 shot glasses
6 bowls of varying sizes
1 segmented snack dish
1 juice pitcher
1 small ice cube tray
1 matching set of salt & pepper shakers
11 drinking glasses, assorted plastic and glass
2 small kitchen storage containers
1 wine glass
1 lid that doesn't seem to go with anything
1 lightbulb that happened to be in a box of kitchenware

All in all, I feel rather accomplished, and am quite happy with this haul of stuff. Most of it clearly worn, all of it free, almost all of it definitely useful to me. I think I will probably use the garish pink striped sheets to make triangular bandages for first aid, and then if there's ever a need, I can tie people up with garish pink striped arm slings.

P.S: Apparently there was so much stuff I inevitably had to forget to list some! I also got a box of assorted coathangers, probably around 30 count, and a bar of Irish Spring soap, still in its box.

The Sweet Delays

My training with the new company has been delayed a week, unfortunately. I suppose this gives me more time to practice my script, but I am disappointed and restless. I was ready, and am. I want to start NOW!

I went to see my ex and his girlfriend in hospital after she damaged her leg slipping on the ice. It was nice to see her again. We've only really met once before. In the hospital waiting room, the two of us together softly sung a single chorus of Mordred's Lullaby. We sing beautifully together, and I hope that we will do it more in the future. It was a magnificent moment. She turned to me with bright eyes and a grin and said, "So, you're a Heather Dale fan, are you?" Someone she works with mistook us for sisters.

It should say a great deal, I hope, to forgiveness and peace, that I and the present girlfriend of my ex, who is part of the reason he is my ex, do such things.

I also went out intending to buy notebooks, which I did, and highlighters, which I could not find in the dollar store, and a city transit map, which I did not buy because the line at the transit office was so long. And because I was already starting to have a panic attack.

Now facing the real prospect of a job I can, and will, excell at, even though I have not started yet... I think forward, to costume design, and street theatre, and activism. Once I can afford it, I will participate. I have been thinking brave and beautiful thoughts along those lines of late.

And... I found myself back at torture and thick in the panic of fear, of dread, to the point that I started to feel physically ill, and clung to the most peaceful and comforting and nonaggressive songs I could find on the iPod to bear it out. I stopped at Goodwill on my way home, still in that panic, thinking to talk to the awesome, sweet geeky young lady receptionist who has often cheered me up, though never out of something like this before... and ask if there was a quiet place I could cry and curl up and someone I could talk to. Several times I almost bailed, choked out an "um" to beg her not to call any particular attention to my need or make exception, or to take anyone away from potentially important work to see me.

I ended up talking to her in an empty office for I'm not sure how long... perhaps half an hour, perhaps more, spilling my terrible difficulty: "you know... don't think of a pink elephant? ... Don't think, try really really hard not to think of... pushpins. Or better, paper clips. And the remarkable depths of human ingenuity. ...And police brutality. And the fact that apparently masked protest is illegal in this country."

Knowing I will soon be able to afford to build costumes, schedule time on activities without my continued involvement in them hinging on whether I find a job that needs that time slot at some point... The risks of what I know I will do, what I know I will nerve myself to do, what I dream of doing, what I will condemn myself for a coward if I do not do... It all comes much more real, and I'm sure it will come much more real yet.

I will cry beforehand so that I can keep my eyes and my mind clear and alert and ready when vital moments come.
I will get my flinching done ahead of the act.
Or after it, I can curl up and weep.
Anytime but during.
Of course, I will strive to do so in the safest and most harmless of ways that can still have dramatic effect, and with all due caution. I only fear for that even the most peaceful of dissent can and certainly will be criminalized in worst case scenarios. For which I absolutely must be prepared.

Prepare for the worst.
Strive for the best.
Expect the most likely, but prepare to be surprised.

The time talking to my friend the receptionist greatly helped me. The fact that I was able to approach her and ask for the moment of help, and follow through, in a public setting, is a definite mark of progress. Overall... today has been a very good, empowering day.
Be proud of me.

I don't think I feel happy.
I feel... like a weak and struggling creature. Growing slightly less weak.
I feel wholesome. I do not feel victorious, but I do feel brave, albeit terribly frightened. I feel resolved, and open, and I feel I have allies.
I feel comforted.
None of these things are happiness. But they are good things.

Fools Of Us

You just cannot win when you're wrong

Though the battle be bloody and long

Oh, the truth will make fools of us all

And the longer you cling to illusion,

the harder you'll fall.

We were all of us ignorant, once

We fought with our lies and the battles were lost

To have wisdom, we must pay the cost

Bitter remedy swallowed with pride

'neath the hat of the dunce

The truth will come out...

It always does, in time.

And the louder you shout

The more foolish you'll look, to yourself

at the end of the line

You just cannot win when you're wrong

Though the battle be bloody and long

Oh, the truth will make fools of us all

And the longer you cling to illusion,

the harder you'll fall.

You just cannot win when you're wrong

Though your allies be wordy, your arguments strong

You may hide behind tyranny, authority,

maybe last your whole life;

Doesn't matter how long, you will never be right

The truth will come out...

It always does, in time.

And the louder you shout

The more foolish you'll look, to yourself

at the end of the line

You just cannot win when you're wrong

Though your allies be wordy, your arguments strong

You may silence dissent, but what victory is that?

You're no closer to truth for each tongue you cut loose

And the truth will come out...

As always, it's yours to decide...

To acknolwedge the loss;

To abandon your pride;

To be wrong,

to be free,

to be right...

Oh the truth will make fools of us-

You just cannot win when you're wrong

Though the battle be bloody and long

Oh, the truth will make fools of us all

And the longer you cling to illusion,

the harder you'll fall.

The truth will make fools of us all!

99% Furry Deviant Approved

I went out grocery shopping today. I brought my Damon with me, and we picked up a bunch of nice things, more than just my standard fare. I got myself ice cream and treats, and got Damon some doughnut sticks, in celebration of my having a new job. I spent most of the rest of my money for this month... It is December, and I will admit, I had been splurging a bit on presents and shipping sending things to people I love, as well as getting things for myself, like a new pair of ear buds since my old ones died. I haven't paid my bills for the month yet, but it's a phenomenally liberating feeling having a pay cheque on the way.

And then, waiting at the bus stop, loaded down with soda, chips and delicious holiday eggnog... I noticed I had another voice mail from work. I gave my supervisor, the friendly and bubbly one, a call. She had left me a message last night, too, asking me to come in for a second training shift on Friday. I had tried to call back, but it didn't seem to be working. It worked this time, and I told her I had gotten her message, sorry for not getting back earlier, told her the reason, and yes of course I can come in on Friday.

She told me she'd spoken with the boss and they had decided they were going to stick with their current team for the time being. I was invited to come in to collect my pay for the two hour orientation I went to. I hurried to politely thank her for telling me, and fumble for my bus pass, as our bus rolled up to the stop.

As you might imagine, I was shocked, stunned, hurt... and maybe even a little panicky, especially since I had slipped my bus pass in a different pocket from the one I usually put it in, and took a minute to find it.

My first thoughts, once I started having thoughts beyond panic and where I had put my bus pass, was that my supervisor or my boss found it unprofessional that I hadn't gotten back after their message early enough, or that they were expecting me to come in today for second training after all (it had been suggested that I would be asked to do so earlier) despite the message asking me to do it on Friday.

My second thoughts were that this was probably because I had mentioned that I haven't worked for a while and would have to adapt my sleep schedule to working again, or that I'd just been too casual and personal in my jokes with my supervisor, talking about memories of listening to cassette tapes as a child, which one of their case models reminded me of (they have one shaped like an old-fashioned audio casette), and such things. Maybe I had somehow offended her or raised a red flag, and she was just too good at masking that kind of thing for me to notice any change in her smile or her laugh. Maybe she had taken my questions and comments during training about harder cases being more likely to crack as antagonism towards the products, or a sign of likely inability to sell them. Maybe I would never be able to get work as long as I naturally fell into patterns of being casual and friendly with anyone I grew to trust at all...

And then, after a while, it finally hit me. I remember at some point while dealing with this blog, finding something about backlinks. Since I am the author of this blog, Blogger will tell me if there is another website somewhere on the internet that links to this one, and will link me to it so I can go and check out who is giving me publicity. You remember that link on my last post, to the Speaking Phones gallery website? If the owner of that website has access to backlinks too... and I strongly suspect this is a thing that is not limited to blogs... then he just got access to that blog post, everything I said about my uncertainty about selling rhinestone covered bling, and the implication that I had not meant to keep the job long (but was now considering doing so, given how the place exceeded all my expectations). In fact, he got access to all my blog posts, and my Fetlife account, and anything else linked to my online persona and the name SerpentStare.

And it turns out I hadn't gotten the job yet. I might as well have stood up on my chair at an interview and shouted, "I'm gay and furry and kinky and proud of it!". Now that... that would explain this, much better than having said something too casual or failed to answer a non-urgent message with urgent timing.

I guess I can't blame them, especially given how harsh I've been in my socialist and anti-capitalist and anti-work epithets on the site here... I remember hearing somewhere that there's no such thing as bad publicity, and I had hoped that my employers would feel that way... Maybe they feel that if I'm willing to use my personal life to plug and promote my work life, I might use my work life to spread pro-fetish ideology, or something? No, I know better than that. I guess for whatever reason, they didn't want their website even remotely associated with me. I will try to remember not to link to any other employers I end up being considered by, lest they find out I am a deviant of great calibre and pride. You might notice, I have gone back to the two previous posts on this blog that featured my real name and removed it, so that it does not come up on a Google search. However, since I seem to have already lost this one, I will leave the existing links up. Speaking Phones was, after all, the reason I labelled that last one "Cool Stuff on the Internet". The website seems a bit broken, and doesn't show all of their stock... at least not on Chrome... but I really was looking forward to working there. There was a lot of cool gear, and I encourage any readers who are looking for cellphone accessories in the London area or near a different one of their branches to check them out.

For now... If I get an email or phone call from someone at Speaking Phones asking me to remove all direct references and/or links to their website, I will do so. I don't really expect them to do that, though, since it would kind of suggest I'd been discriminated against if it turned out the identifying information on my blog was what kept them from hiring me, and it would suggest that they had, in fact, read my blog, if they asked me to remove content from it. Ah, discrimination. Everyone does it, but no-one can admit it, because then there might be legal problems. I haven't had to deal with it a whole lot - at least, not comparatively speaking... and, well, I guess I kind of forgot it existed and I should stay guarded against it, there, for a moment.

And now I'm broke. I assumed I had a job, I celebrated, I stopped to tell you all (and Ontario Works for that matter) about it... and now... I don't. I will need some help to get through this month, I think... though having had a moment to think about it, I'm pretty sure I've got all the help I need. There are people I can ask for assistance in moments like this, thankfully. Damon among them, though he can't help me with money, only moral support.

I'll make it through this. It's a staggering and disappointing blow, but I'll make it. I'm really glad Damon was there with me when I got that memo, he was a huge help. And to Speaking Phones... like it or not, you have my approval, in pretty much everything except, naturally, the decision not to hire me. Maybe you'll change your mind. Maybe you won't. Anyway, best of luck.

Nobody

(originally written a long time ago)

I woke up this morning and there was no power in half the house.
I woke up this morning and there was no power in half my body.
I woke up this lifetime and there was no life in half my heart.

And I screamed, and I cried, and I cried out...
for mercy.
And they laughed, and they pointed, and ran...
and they ran from me.
And I lay there bleeding from wounds no-one else could see.
And looked up to see Nobody,
because Nobody came to rescue me.
Noboby came to comfort me.

And Nobody helped me get back on my feet again.
And Nobody convinced me to start trying to eat again.

So don't come to try and take my heart.
I share my heart with Nobody.
Don't come and ask to be part of my world.
I gave my world to Nobody.

And if you want to have some of these things,
don't come around to talk to me.
You can go ask Nobody.

And you know what?
Nobody will answer you.

So don't you dare ask me who I am,
and don't ask what's become of me.
'Cause you didn't come when I was dying.
And now all I am...
is Nobody.

Fantasy

(originally posted on FetLife on April 17, 2010)

Here we are just chasing fantasy,
wishing for a day that's never been,

Living...
as though uncertainty, were
something strange,
not how things ought to be.

Chasing dragons, in dragging days,
killing boredom when we can.

Trapping bitterness and wringing it dry,
as though to try
to make it sweet,
While we're just chasing fantasy,
visions that will never be, until
we stop chasing,
we start making,
for a day that's never been.

Choice and Responsibility

I clicked into a serious talk on YouTube today. I wasn't really looking for it, not actively anyway. It was about choice, capitalism, and the paralysis of clinging to what little we have rather than risking the loss of it by moving to engineer social change. It strikes kind of hard... I'm familiar with this truth. I think it may be one of the things I was trying to talk about with To Do What I Must While I Am Who I Am.

It also reminds me of The Little Prince. I find myself almost wanting to cry as I think even of myself, trying to force myself to ascribe to something I do not believe, the idea that submitting to the need to work on whatever my employer's terms are will empower me to make a difference, rather than making me a supportive cog in a system I despise and disempowering me by giving me something I must fear to lose...

I see myself trying to mount a stressful job search, with minimal resources and trying to bury my resentment of the system that puts me here and demands that I serve it in order to live a better life... turning into what the Prince would call a 'mushroom'; putting off, ignoring, or dismissing important matters of emotionality, sensitivity and wonder because "I am concerned with matters of consequence!"

I do not want to take solace in that phrase or in the necessity of my busywork. I don't want to allow myself any excuse for not doing what I believe in in every way I can.

And yet... I must job search, I must work. If I refused, I would be denied what little survival budget I am being given, and pushed into an even smaller, darker hole. To avoid both would be dishonest and as such a betrayal of principles I hold most dear. I am already concerned with matters of consequence... matters of survival. And I must admit I already kind of hate myself for it.

I wrote in the very first pages of the notebook that's now become my journal, quite some time ago:

People in a culture with as much technology, resources and interconnectivity as ours have absolutely no right to be concerned about their mere survival.

I am guilty of this, and feel that I have failed, not on my own lack of merit, but as one of the billions, as a member of the whole human race. I also wrote:

Western culture has adopted the image of an organization collapsing under its own obsession with efficiency - efficiency itself compromised by endless lawsuits over liability and breach of protocol...
A machine so frantically upgrading and replacing its pieces that it tears itself apart.

DKLOD

You may take away my accusing eyes.
You may steal my scolding tongue.
You may rip away my claws that I cannot with them deface you,
and surgically remove any part of me that offends you;
But short of killing me,
you won't be free of the mind that sees your treason for what it is
and judges you, Guilty.

To Do what I Must; While I Am who I Am

No, I do not bring happiness with me wherever I go. Not always.

To my love, my presence is sorrowful; It confronts him with the guilt of having done me wrong. It puts a pressure on him that prohibits, rather than enabling and encouraging him to open up to himself, to be open and vulnerable enough to question, probe, consider, and discover, the deeper reasons for his own restlessness. I know it is hard enough for him to find that vulnerability within himself alone, let alone before the image of a sad love, a person he has hurt and cannot heal. I feel (I fear) it might be better for us both not to bear this painful, wistful company, full of the flashing glimpses of regrets and roads not taken.

I read a guide to interview planning and etiquette. It's all tips I've heard before. And I feel an instinctive despair, a familiar objection from my very core: "This is not who I am!"

"It's only what I do." The second voice rises like an ocean over a desert, like rivers into the sea. It brings with it a rightness, a freedom. And perhaps it brings the problem well into light. Is it not a beautiful, distant dream? To be able to Do what I Am, rather than live a dichotomy, in the left hand the truth of Who I Am, and in the right the truth of What I Do, each clumsily struggling to tie separate knots, or, may all goodness forbid, the one constantly undoing the other's, rather than forming a graceful bow of mutual effort between them.

And yet, having not come to that place, the separation is a forgiveness. I may do What I Must Do, and this does not override Who I Am. I need not be fundamentally changed or overwritten to fill a less natural or fitting role. My capability is a fact, and my quirks flavour and enhance it, but while I Do other than what I Am - at the behest of others, to feed myself - my secret self is not deleted, but lies in wait like a spy waiting for his opportune moment to strike, or a caterpillar for his wings.

Even as I write this, every letter feels like a lie, the mere thought of the act is uncomfortable as deceit, and the excuse that I "have to" tastes bitter and hateful in my mouth. But perhaps, I can consent to Do even in service of my enemies, and to Do with my fullest capacity for excellence, while waiting and growing and stowing myself carefully away, preparing for the chance to Do what I Am, and bowl the world over at just the right moment.

Now if only I could believe it.

I must find some way at least for the two not to be in open conflict, or I shall tear myself apart...

The Serpent Street Choir

The last meeting of Grit Uplifted in the session of fourteen was today. I feel slightly bloated. There was a small party with baked goods and a free beverage from Red Roaster, courtesy of the facilitators of the group. And then dinner at the Center of Hope directly afterward.

I spent some time after the confidence boost of reading some of my newest work at Grit walking the streets and imagining that I were leading a practiced choir of recruits from My Sister's Place and the expanded community in a slow march through the streets, singing "I Have a Right" together; two people carrying large, cardboard signs in clear black and white, one with "I Have a Right, by Sonata Arctica, from their album Stones Grow Her Name", and the other with "adapted and performed with choir by (me - name removed)" on either side by the front; instrumentalists who wanted to join in playing a simple, repeated rhythm on drums, perhaps even a guitarist.

For a long, instrumental break, I imagined the choir filling the space with a simple, rhythmic refrain in increasingly complex harmony (perhaps with parts of it singing a supportive harmony in simple aah's or la's),

"I have a right. You have a right. We have a right. We all have a right. The rich have a right. The poor have a right. The old have a right. The young have a right." ...Back into the chorus.

I imagined drawing much energy and attention while slowly progressing down some streets.

Only thoughts... But such beautiful, beautiful thoughts they are.

I really must think about trying to start up a small choir group at My Sister's Place. It would be an early step to some wonderful thing like this actually happening.

Ah, and in my imagination, with my ego, I called it The Serpent Street Choir.

Fire Alarm

2AM, klaxons wail. I am shaken on the arm before I stir, and pull on clothes. Fire Alarm. We are herded out down stairwells and stand in the grass, everyone swearing as they always do. Some hug for warmth in the cold, some stomp and complain. A tall, thin, shirtless man with long hair and a smile laughs and says this is neither truly early in the morning nor truly cold. Smokers smoke and everyone speculates the smell of smoke, the flashing lights coming from within some windows. There does seem to be more sourness in the smell of the air than tobacco smoke or pot would usually bring, but maybe I don't know those smells that well, really. In time, the firemen carrying maul and sledgehammer, trudging wearily up and down the stairs, emerge and leave. In time, the wailing stops, and we are all herded back in. There is competition for the bathrooms as each of us has an interrupted body rhythm and wishes for relief before heading back to bed. There is some noise and light: No doubt, the awakeness will last a while for some. Myself, I write and hope that sleep will not be too long finding me again when I return to her soon. I consider quietly that in the rush, the only thing I grabbed to take with me was my locker key.

I presume this incident may be why I'm so tired today. On the other hand, I was tired last Sunday, too. With the library closed and many of the other shelters and support structures closed as well or running shorter hours, there is much less to do on this one day.

I feel I am getting closer to the city. You know what's funny? I have a favorite toilet stall at CitiPlaza. It's because of some activist graffitti someone wrote on the inside of the door in black marker: "What did your purchase support today? VOTE with your WALLET!"

I can sit in the plaza and attempt to do sudokus, at least, or draw. I keep making mistakes in the sudokus without realizing it. It's rather distressing. I think I'm paying attention, and only writing in answers that are certain and follow absolutely from what is already there, but somehow I end up with a contradiction. Sometimes I wonder angrily whether there has been a printing error and the sudoku is impossible, but I have yet to prove that that's the case. I think I will challenge Damon tomorrow to try to solve the one that tricked me up today, to see if he can do it.

You should all listen to Sonata Arctica. All of you. It's a great band. I got really caught on two songs in particular today: It Won't Fade, from Unia, Damon's favorite album, and Alone in Heaven, from their newest album, Stones Grow Her Name. I want to try playing Alone in Heaven on piano. It seems like one of the rare pieces that is simple enough that I should be able to do an accompaniment for the whole thing.

The Whips and Scorns of Time

I swear, I was asleep two hours ago, snuggled down and starting to dream. I didn't even have a very hard time of it. And then a pizza guy came to the door. Well... I guess this is how life is when you live on someone's couch. Or more specifically, on the couch of people who are unmistakably night people. Not that I wish to complain; I am grateful that I have a place I can lay my head that isn't crowded with curfews and enforced structure that doesn't suit my natural rhythms. I am naturally a night person too. In this house, it looks like any attempt I make to keep more normal hours, though, for the sake of productivity, will be stymied with ease, completely unintentionally.

Besides that, the dog pup of one of the six people stuffed in this modest three bedroom townhouse (myself included) isn't house trained and tends to piss on the stairs and everywhere else. The kitchen, even when I clean all the dishes in it, will be cluttered to near-uselessness again less than two days later. The cat litters in the basement are not maintained, so the only one any of the cats use is the one that my partner cleaned about a week ago, right at the other end of the couch that serves as my bed. And several of these five cats fight and race about and knock things over. One of them stole my partner's wallet a few days ago and hid it away in a box of bags and non-perishables in the kitchen. Besides my partner, there are two people here I get along with well, one I hardly know who is clearly very different from me, but with whom I share a quiet politeness in passing, and one that I actively dislike, and the feeling is mutual. He is loud, aggressive, and acts with an exceptional air of entitlement.

Would I rather be back at the Evil Old Man's place? ... No. Conditions here are undeniably worse, and even the social atmosphere isn't much better, if at all, but it is a step forward, from stable misery to comparatively unstable misery that I may be able to resolve into non-misery. If I allowed myself to be overcome by the negative transitory period between one stable situation and another, I would remain forever paralyzed. It's the old saying, you can't take third base while keeping your foot on second. Or something to that effect.

But in these conditions, I am backsliding. I don't feel terribly upset about this right at this moment. At this moment, I am giving myself more patience and credit than that. Besides, I'm starting to turn around to effort and courage again, as can be demonstrated by my coming back and writing again. Earlier, when I was caught completely in the mire, I was very upset about it. I don't mind admitting that my general default state of mind is bad enough that any particularly bad situation or attack of panic and doubt brings me back to thoughts of suicide. It's less threatening than that might otherwise be, because I can think of no means to suicide that I am both able to access and think I would have the strength of will to go through with. I am too frightened of and unfamiliar with the associated pains. Blades terrify me, and I naturally shy away from them. I suspect poisoning would be unreliable and I would almost certainly suffer hideous nausea and probably terrible migraine as a result of the attempt even if it didn't work, and particularly potent poisons would be difficult to obtain legally, for incredibly obvious reasons. Exposure to elements would be slow and even more unreliable, drowning is classically terrifying, getting licencing and funds for a firearm would be prohibitively expensive, out of character for me, and... well, I just don't like guns. Something about them fills me with distaste. So essentially, even leaving aside the dread of something after death, that undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns, I cannot help but come to the conclusion that dying would be phenomenally unpleasant - possibly even more so than living, even in the worst of times. Also, my mood always stabilizes eventually, and it doesn't usually take more than, say, a day or two.

I have been, as always, rediscovering that there are, in fact, things that fairly reliably cheer me up. Going for walks, especially with my partner's company, is one of these things. Surprisingly enough, doing downtown and noticing the people seems to tend to cheer me up a bit, too. People often depress me with their ignorance, shortsightedness and cruelty, and yet... maybe it's that certain je ne sais quoi I always liked about this city, but I find the human life here more reassuring than condemning about humanity as a whole. And it's certainly not for a lack of ignorant or cruel people, but maybe... maybe the worse people here tend to be a little less worse than in other places I've seen. Or maybe it's just the healthy bustle and liveliness of the place that seems to bring it all into a more forgivable context. Or maybe it's something else. I really noticed it when a passing cyclist on a biking trail thanks me for moving over to let her pass. The question is whether such decency really is something I didn't see in Saint Thomas, or whether I'm just... noticing it more. I suspect the former, if only because I feel quite certain I would be able to remember an example of it if it was present back there.

Before I go, let me share with you my current worst problem. As is not at all unusual, the source of my trouble is Ontario Works. I learned, when I was invited by the support structures in the city to go through an intake procedure here, with the company of some professional... well, caring company... that I would not be eligible for shelter and basic needs funding while I was staying at shelters in the city not even Crash Beds. Apparently OW expects that a bed, albeit not necessarily the same bed, but the promise of a bed, each night, breakfast in the morning and snacks in the evening, are all anyone really needs to survive and get by. Likewise, I am not eligible if I am couch surfing, because in that case I have shelter for free, so they don't have to help me pay for it. If I remain homeless and float around shelters and from that position manage to get a rent agreement (goodness alone knows how), Then I could apply to be kept alive but harassed constantly about whether or not I've found work yet like the child of a disgusted stepmother who just doesn't want to have to deal with me. Or, I could wait and float around shelters and put myself on a fast track list for geared to income housing. I have a friend who went that route. His words on the subject? They quote the official waiting list, for the actively homeless, to be half a year. Realistically, it may be half a year if you have no standards, if you are willing to accept absolutely any form or state of housing. In his case, it took over a year for them to get back to him. According to OW, they can put me on a faster track if I am utterly homeless, and the waiting list for that is only three months - only! Imagine that... But I will be ineligible if I continue to couch surf. Even for one day.

When I tried to apply on my own, and at the intake told them I was currently couch surfing in the house of friends, into which my boyfriend had just moved, I was pounced. I swear the look in the intake worker's eyes turned from sympathy to disgust in an instant when she asked me whether this was the same boyfriend I left in Saint Thomas. Of course it was. As she understood it, I had been leaving an abusive relationship. Well, I had been, of course, it just wasn't a relationship with my partner. We were both being abused by his father, and if she had been misinformed about that, it was not my doing, I never claimed differently. But it seems that if you say you are in an abusive situation, it will be immediately clear to everyone that you are claiming spousal abuse. Certainly women are never abused by anyone else. At least not, it would seem, in the eyes of the government.

Anyway, my intake was terminated. I was told rather forcefully to sign a form of withdrawal of application. According to OW, regardless of my intent to stay under the same roof or not, my partner and I are common-law, since we were on the same account before and I still call him my boyfriend. Nevermind that Ontario law states that common-law only becomes default after three years of cohabitation and I haven't even known him for two. He brought that up when he went to his own intake, later, and the only response he got from his case worker was a simple and cruel word of blackmail. "You know, I can just close your file." I had considered asking what happened if I didn't sign the withdrawal form, at my meeting, but decided against it. I was already upset enough, and while I would have really loved to act rashly and refuse, just walk away, I was sure it would bring more trouble down on my head, either then and there or later if I had to come back, and I really couldn't have dealt with that.

Ontario Works says that if we are sleeping under the same roof, we have to be on the same account. No wiggle room, no exceptions. Boyfriend asked whether it was necessary for me to be on OW at all, whether I could just choose to go unsupported, and survive on scraps as it were. Ontario Works does not regard it as an option. No. We need to be on the same file, and both be on it, if we are together, because we are common-law, because they say so, and we were, once, happy to be classed that way.

So my legal options are these:

Run away, leave my boyfriend, whom I still care deeply about, but do not wish to live with, behind entirely and find some other form of charity, someone else to support me, and try to survive the leaving in my weak and depressed state.

Surrender myself to the mark of extreme poverty and live on the streets, sleeping in charity beds and eating charity food, and wander the streets while the shelters are closed until my feet are worn and bloody and my clothes fall apart, or until the housing system gets around to me.

Become a useless limpet clinging to my boyfriend in a place I do not wish to be, resigned to the ugliness of this place and its downsides, angry and miserable, considered and classed an extension of my boyfriend, the unofficial spouse. And of course, expected to job search effectively from this position.

Find work and/or housing on my own. Yes. Of course. That will work. I'm definitely strong and stable enough. Sigh.

Be the beneficiary of some kind of miracle.

Oh. I should probably also mention, because they are important developments, that I am out of thyroid supplements, at least of my standard dose. I still have some of the ones I was given before, which are 50% larger, and so I've started taking those again, and just trying to make sure I don't take them too close together, hoping it will even out somehow. Also, my boyfriend... is getting together again with someone he knew before me. They were always happy together, until they broke up the first time. They are giddy when they think of each other. Everyone accepts that they will be lovers again, and even they have had to admit it, struggle though they might. They even share dreams with each other. I find myself wondering whether I would finally be free of useless spouse status if he reported to Ontario Works that she was his girlfriend now. Probably not, unless she moved in, even though I doubt they would go so far as to assume something as unconventional as polyamory.

How do I feel about their relationship? Hell, how do you think I feel? Well, I probably feel significantly less bad than that. But it is still hard to accept. There are connections between them that I never managed to forge with Boyfriend, and I am jealous over that. I look forward to meeting her, though. From what my boyfriend has told me, I think we will get along well, like friendly sisters. I just hope that we can shift gracefully from me being the most important lover in his life, to her. I already know it will happen, it's just a matter of how naturally, and with how much drama. I feel slighted, but not by either of them. Only by the cruel hand of fate.

Update: Homeless in London

I really ought to let any avid readers know what's going on, and for the moment, I do have time, so it's high time I did.

This past Sunday, when my boyfriend returned from a trip with his father the Evil Old Man, and started to grumble and snarl to me about how the Evil Old Man had spent pretty much the entire ride complaining about me and how I'm a bad influence, et cetera, et cetera, I finally decided it was time, I packed up some clothes, my hairbrush and toothbrush and notebooks and sketchbook and some pens and pencils, quickly researched some shelters in London, and set out.

Boyfriend helped me out, and a friend gave me a lift to the edge of town. I hitch-hiked out to the city, to London, and so here I am, and here I have been, for now close to a week. And yep. I'm homeless. :)

Surprised to see a smiley there?

It's very liberating to be free of the Evil Old Man and his constant presence and disapproval, his bitching and moaning and accusing. It's almost even more liberating to walk down a city street with everything I really need right here with me in a backpack, lightly packed.

London is a good city to be homeless in, if you know what you're doing. Most of the shelters only cater to a specific crowd and are often full, but the Crash Beds program will always find a place for you, even if it's crowded and they have to bring out cots. Crash Beds, the Youth Action Center, and My Sister's Place also provide free meals to their target communities daily, and there are other places that have less frequent free lunches and dinners, like the Salvation Army.

The library, if you can get a card (I needed an address, but getting the Salvation Army's center of hope, one of the shelters that will cater to people without income if it's not full, to give me a letter saying I had stayed there was enough for a limited account) allows 90 minutes of free internet use per day, and the many employment services organizations will give you internet and phone use too, at least for employment related activities.

There are workshops and lessons and things to look into, but probably the most important thing, at least for me, is having my friends, who live in town. I got them to hold onto the heavier of my two bags, in which I packed most of my clothing, and I have the assurance that I am always welcome there for a meal or a nap.
Thanks, guys. I love you!

I've been busy, mostly just to fill the time, and I already know my way pretty well around the city core. I'll be signing up for one on one job searching help with someone before too long, in order to help shore up and bolster my biggest weakness... anxiety and trouble with confidence.

However, just thinking about how I'm living right now actually does fill me with confidence. I am being a resourceful, crafty, city survivalist, and I love it. Going through hard times and keeping my head makes me feel strong and capable. now it's just a matter of getting together enough of a base of resources, contacts and sanity to bring this confidence to potential employers in all its living, beating, street-defeating glory and using it to my advantage.

This... is gonna be tough. But I think I can do it, with the right kind of help, and the right kind of help is around, I just have to sniff it out. I'm on it!

Oh, and also, since I'm here without much to do most of the time, at least for now, I'm pursuing one of my interests... music... by getting in contact with some local bands looking for a vocalist. Who knows? I may end up part of a team and make music my job, for a while. How sweet would that be? I'll try to keep you posted, when more interesting stuff happens.

Love from a place of freedom and strength.
SerpentStare

Thank You, Ani

I've not been living, this past week, I've been waiting, that's all. Waiting to be somewhere else, with so much ferocity I don't think we're getting the paperwork to move there in on time. Isn't amazing how that will happen? The system just kind of... stops... And refuses to do anything, with too little hope, too little connection to anything outside the grubby walls of a messy bedroom that never changes...

I've been playing casual games on OMGPOP recently, mostly Draw My Thing, which is fun and social, especially to play with friends who appreciate your joke answers. I know this shiny, glossy, colourful world of little jewelry tokens and rewards for momentary cleverness or quick reflexes... It's fake and shallow and silly, and it makes very little but an effective distraction. I feel a little bored just testing my reflexes, and so I open my music library. Huh, Ani Difranco. Hello. It's been a while. Why not?

Why not? I don't think anyone else could have pulled me so completely out of that cute little illusion. How can you listen to Ani DiFranco and not give your full attention to the real world around you? Suddenly, I wasn't a chimp responding to colours anymore, I transformed again into a restless but emboldened young person trapped in a small bedroom, avoiding responsibility and interactivity with the outside at the same time as I crave it, and am wasting away without it. I really need to put this music on my MP3 player. It would make good music for walking through that real world, to stay grounded in it... but in an empowering way...

Thank you, Ani. I was forgetting, again.

This isn't the only deep thing I encountered today. My friend insisted on showing me the video demonstration of current graphic technology, Quantic Dreams' Kara. Watch it. It's touching and valid and topical. It made me cry with loneliness and I am not even remotely ashamed to admit it, although I am slightly to admit that I am a bit jealous of my partner and my friend, who apparently had both thought up an idea about what might be going on that I did not. Ah, well. I should not take it to mean that I am dense or stupid for not thinking the same thing.

And then a Michael Moore documentary. I hear that a lot of people say his arguments are invalid, that they only display one side of any issue, and present it in a hugely skewed way. I wonder how many of the people who say this are not trying to discredit him for their own financial interests. My partner wanted me to see Sicko. It wasn't bad. I paused it a lot to have political discussions with him at various points when I had something to say that seemed important to me.

And yet, I don't think anything wakes me up like Ani DiFranco, who talks about fantasies to make them real fantasies, rather than false realities.

Thank you. Thank you so much.

To anyone who's been reading with interest, thank you, too. You can expect my posting to be erratic and strange, to be scattered and weird, and rarely hold the same topics for long. I hope you find some good stuff here in my ravings. Love and peace and inspiration to all of you.

FetLife: About Me

FetLife is a website for kinksters, fetishists, slaves and masters, virtually anyone who practices or would like to experience kink, BDSM, or any form of non-standard sexuality. It's a very, very social website, and if any of you are inclined to check it out, go right ahead. You only have your purported innocence to lose.

I am quite happy with the new write-up I put there today to reflect the changes in my attitude and intentions since  the last time I wrote my "About Me" bio. So, if you are brave enough, read on for a little more insight into my mind and the way I think.

It's time for change. 

I have just started a workout habit that hopefully will last. I am not yet in London, but that's where I'm headed next. 

I want to change my hair, add a new name to my standard collection, learn, develop, and keep going. 

I could probably be described as "vanilla with a hint of kink" - I'm not all that active, haven't really spent much time with anything traditionally BDSM. Some of the 'interests' I do have are taboo and strange. If you get to know me, you might learn of them. 

Generally speaking, I am not in a position in which I feel safe giving up control and I am not comfortable doing to other people this same thing which would feel terrifying and abusive to me. 

Sometimes pain (like hard fingernails raked hard down the back) can be relaxing in its discomfort, like a reminder of mortality, of the limits of the self, what I am and what I am not... and like a slap in the face that returns one to a larger perspective. Sometimes just embracing the physicality of the body and its experiences is reassuring in a way. 

Sometimes... we are animals born to fuck, born to fight, to gorge, to hurt, to be ashamed and vulnerable and get back up and keep living, at war and at peace with our animalism, and proud of the beauty of our individual identities. Anyone who misses this point, is, deluded. Period. 

We are complete with our scars... But it is better to slowly heal the scars than rip them open to scar again for pride's sake. 

I am gentle and ferocious, I change with the winds. I am tired and bitter, and always trying hard to find evidence of people and things that will somehow consistently fail to disappoint me. These things are few. 

I am angry and upset, often for no obvious reason beyond the background of the world and how fucking wrong it is about so many things... 

And yet... This world that we are living in now, may be the safest, the sanest, the most co-operative and peaceful, the best regulated and easiest to build on, that the world our Earth has ever been. 

Now... is that disappointing? Or is that inspiring? 

There is always music, even when it hurts to hear.
There is always beauty, even when there is also pain, misery, and death.
This is your life. You can ruin it or throw it away, or get it messy, if you want to.
And I can spend a few hours of mine from time to time encouraging you not to.
This is equally my right as your freedom is yours.
We are social creatures. We need each other.
We are not the machines that the Industrial Age tries to force us to be.
I sincerely look forward to a truly Post-Industrial Age.
It IS coming. Those who stand in the way of the future may stall it but cannot prevent it. They will move, or they will fall. 

This is who I am. Do you want some?