“You people making comments here are some of the least intelligent I have ever seen. Just wate…”
I think you suddenly lost your point.
Life is either a continual process of learning or it is a continual process of forgetting.
*Commonlaw Copyright, observe it
I’ve made almost 600 posts on this? Ack. And I’d forgotten it.
The reason was a series of four months of almost constant seizures. Neither epilepsy nor EDS is much fun; I did a great deal of damage to my back and not to my brain but to something analogous to a hard drive index; the information is there but the index got hit. Badly. Most of it, however, was merely things like this which were time-related. I remember I wrote during that time. I don’t remember which media I employed. I remember reading books voraciously, though not which ones.
The path back. Today’s lesson is that the “path back” is also the path before. If you do not progress, you regress.
all words begin as whispers
all whispers start as breaths
odd what grim implications
this lends silence.
This is the latest in a series of poems actually inspired by ‘Miri, Professional Fun-Ruiner’ [I may have that slightly wrong] otherwise known as Brute Reason and her accusation that I was acting as if I knew her and (I think she was accusing me of) knowing how she acted or would act. Or something.
Because of the fact that I hadn’t quite gotten that far (that is extremely sarcastic, to be noted because of the passionless characteristics of internet writing), I wrote a very short response, indicated I’d follow her wishes and wished her a nice life. I would have forgotten all about it except for an odd “unsubscribe/abuse” notice with the sort of scrambled subject line that one would expect of a complaint and forcible unsubscription. I’d already been deleting her stuff because it was idle interest and I’d no need for it clogging inbox=no unsubscribe routine. I bet privately at that point that something had bothered her. Note: I am far too lazy to check. The biggest note would be a response of hers to something. I haven’t looked because most of all I could possibly get into some sort of trouble.
However, the poem is my bet. The characterization of her words beginning as whispers is hinted by what of her blog I read. I used to be a proofreader among other things although I’ve discovered I’m lazy. She varies between a fear of being wounded and a fear of wounding–no, let me shorten this. She lives consciously in the purgatory that is the city, and teeters constantly between guilt and pride and names it variously.
What I’d said, briefly, I think, was that she could never meet me. She was quite angered by that. She couldn’t because I do avoid others’ gaze and presence (although there is the other fear, that I become violent) and because we live a continent apart. And I’d bet she’s waiting for me to comment on something in her blog, which I’ll never visit again.
I had a friend named John, once. I told him, about ten years ago, knowing he was dying, that I just didn’t think I’d be able to visit him again. Mind you, he’d ripped me off and I’d known it. He’d talked behind my back. He’d even warned me away from himself. He basically begged me to come back. I never did.
It’s turned out I’ve established an actual dialogue with someone who keeps her blog her, and it’s more convenient in respects to use this one than the one at LiveJournal. Besides, I can impress her with my panoply of blogs or something (that was a joke, particularly considering I have no reason to wish to impress her nor even any clear image of her).
She’s going to be impelled to respond to a reply I made to her. Mine was a bit vainglorious in appearance, as if I were bragging about being a genius. She’ll have to attack me about that. She’s also going to have to reiterate something about my being impelled to inappropriate social conduct. Actually, I am; I basically prefer to ignore others on the whole, because they are too difficult to communicate with. I have never been able to “act like regular people do”, mainly because I can’t appreciate the [lack of] reasoning behind what regular people do.
How I predict it is easy, since I know a bit about her by now. She had an unfortunate experience and probably more than one. Someone she knew got raped; I hope it wasn’t her, but then I despise rapists. Since even castration doesn’t work to prevent recidivism I think they should be killed–another reason she wouldn’t allow me in her living room. She of course knows of innumerable cases of women being victimized. Her awareness of boys and men being raped is blunted if existent, I must note. I did word the reply to prompt a response, primarily to test my understanding; if it’s utterly incorrect there will be none.
In many ways I simply don’t care about the things most people value. I can’t just copy others, have never been able to; after all, that was what had them judging me autistic til I was nearly three.
I’ve signed up for her blog out of an abstract interest and because I know I’ll be impelled to write. If this is in accordance with predictions made decades ago that is quite assuredly irrelevant. Surely there is free will.
I will say that regarding truth as anything but relative is instantly problematic, which makes usage of the word at best questionable. Very certainly it is dependent upon timely concepts (and McMahon’s “factoids” were simply a belated recognition of how we process reality).
The title on this link should just forget it and say users. And my main response is, why doesn’t everyone shut the hell up? If you have any brains at all, you don’t walk up to a police man (or woman: so fine, policeperson) and say: “My pot is stronger than yours.” You just don’t. Especially if it is, because then the sucker gets paranoid and shoots you. The real point about it is that tempting as it is, flirting with the media is always deadly to the message. Their only role in life is to get more listeners. Truth is a concept they’ve heard about occasionally, and they’ll look into it if it gets controversial enough.
The best thing of all is to do the tiny bit of research necessary and find out the basis for the current drug laws in the good ol’ US of A. I will say this. Heroin is definitely not marijuana, and neither actually is a necessary component for jazz–or even related, for that matter.
Government types are uneasy with any meeting that isn’t absolutely controlled by rules they understand.