Watching the Beginning Over & Over
What does it mean to be locked in Start.
In this metaphor, everything is momentum without motion. The weight of the world causes a painful incongruence. I re-watched The Massive Weight of Incredible Talent again, and I have maintained a sense of both nostalgia and novelty about it. This is what good art does, at its core, it is timeless. It speaks to something universal about our collective human experience.
The Art Wars
I really struggle to understand Copyright, and I got really thrown off the learning platform that is/was fan-based art. I want to go back to something magical in my childhood when I remixed TV shows into fan videos, including one of the most popular videos for the very brief burst of sunlight so bright and so fast that was “Chuck”, the whiplash of a serial rom-com. I’m not sure if that’s what that was, but that is the somatic presence in my body when I think of it.
Because my OG youtube account was taken down due to copyright infringement no one will ever know that I was the first person to make a fake iPod commercial in the sims using a Custom Content iPod I found online and I just made custom walls and custom skin tones and clothing re-swatches to make that iconic little parody commercial. The internet has never felt like that scary ominous permanent place like we were taught in our youth. Evidence of my time as an internet hate meme has been (gracefully) mostly erased. The coolest things I’ve ever done are un-credited, lost, or private.
I’m quite enjoying the process of retracting my claws (intentionally) and thinking about who I am and who I put into the world as myself, and who I fight to be (poetically intersecting things). I am upset at the loss of the internet archive.
Seriously though, I would rather the evidence be there of the bullshit, somewhere. I didn’t exactly “document” my trauma for future gaslighting or to prepare for revisionist disregard.
Random Anti-Capitalist Musing
Labor is not a clearly measurable resource and regardless of how you perceive someone’s labor to be valuable or not valuable, we all generally deserve a decent quality of life with dignity and autonomy. The niches people need to fill in the world to do good in the world are not all documentable, and certainly not on par with the jobs that need to happen. Rephrase: the jobs that exist with pay are not fully representative of the labor that happens or needs to happen. Pay people when you can, directly, however you can, for the sake of saving lost art (each other). This has been said better, before, say it again.
((cw - discussion of lived trauma states))
My first Somatic Therapy experience was through counseling I was able to access as part of the benefits of my job at that time. The therapist was the first thing close to a trauma specialist that I worked with, and I was too shy to assert my gender at that time and didn’t want that to impact my care. Sure it could’ve been a more effective experience potentially if I felt affirmed in my care, but I was too scared to even ask for it. So, I grinned through the misgendering as I did in most other things and took it upon myself to try to incorporate the somatic process. Due to the volatile nature of PTSD & trauma work, my conclusion was that while I can do some gentle somatic body-mind exercises on myself, it really is much more effective and safer to do with some kind of facilitator, or guide, who can help you muddle through the soup.
I call my trauma my brain soup because I really enjoyed the metaphor suggested to me with it being a pool, draining those emotions. Once it’s in the soup, it’s all mixed up with everything else, thus is the mechanism of compounded trauma: I have brain soup, terrible soup. My worst trauma state feels like stillness, an urgency to move even when I am in pain, it is difficult, it is unsafe, and being unable to communicate with my full verbality.
At the hospital, I used a mobiscribe wave to pass notes with my partner. The only advantage with the mobiscribe when I chose an e-ink tablet, is the fact that it’s waterproof. This is a selling point for all weather usage, ambitiously dreaming of going outside and making art outside, there is a part of me that could see myself comfy in the rain. This is my very quick review, part of me wishes I got the supernote, mostly because I want to feel the feeling of how writing that way feels. I’ve been doing illustrations! (see an example of that further down). Also I was seduced by the colour screen… which BOOX is offering too now so the novelty of that is wearing off.
ANYWAYS special interest in niche tech aside. I’m just sharing because the option for low-verbal communication when I struggle with social anxiety so bad that I can’t express myself fully was so appreciated when I was at the hospital and I’m glad my wreckless abandon did allow me some tools. I’m still taunted by the existence of ~everything~ that persades itself to be an aid to me, ah, desperate expenses! I’m trying to simmer down and focus on what do I really need, how do I ask for that. In the meantime, asside from my longings for assistive technology, you can see my brain wants & potentially send me healing snacks on my wishlist.
a sim writes at a computer in an outlandishly decorated room
I made a joke that I was once a jellyfish, if I had a past life I was running from the ocean.
The world we are in is drenched in blood.
This thought or feeling prompted me to draw, and remember a part of my haunted draft. There was a moment wrapping around me. Bikes and birds and backpacks and bottles of wine and everything beautiful I’ve seen today has prompted me to pull a ~200 word excerpt from my creative universe, in a draft that has 51k words and historically, has caused me panic attacks as blah blah blah iykyk. Once you get my art, you get my art. You either get it or you don’t.
I’m imagining that in the spot where my uterus used to be, where I am still healing, I have created an energetic and mystical portal to my creativity. I think about how my back pain and previously fractured elbows, the miscellaneous nerve pain actually help right now because the limits of what I can do while healing from a hysterectomy are strangely on par with my general limitations living with chronic pain and unaddressed EDS and whatever the fuck is also happening in my trauma brain.
I feel like we are in a strange era where the medical system has gone backward, the infection risks feel higher than they used to be, and I am scared for my body to have to endure multiple procedures. So there is one I must emphasize, urgently because, at this point, I do believe that not living as my embodied self is having tangible impacts on not just my mental health but my physical health though I do feel the ending of internal isolation, so progress is being made. The reality is: I have been living as Paint, knowing what I wanted for my transition, for nine years. I came to these conclusions and desires as a fully forged “adult” (in a world that seeks to infantilize me, I emphasize this, I am creeping towards my mid-thirties here.)
I have already asked for help.
I am trying to allow myself to receive. The other surgery, the one that’s most important to me, is to be determined on the timeline but it is … a canon event for me. Whether or not you understand, even if you think it is nonsense to only want one breast, this is canon. This is something I gotta do, that I gotta make happen. I too, have to stop resisting it.
obsessively living out multiple lives in the “parody” capitalism game, the Sims, these 3 sims are working on a peace & rainbows mural.
I’m making fan fiction for the art I can’t make anymore.
It’s the only way I keep my soul afloat.
Paid Content: Short Writing Excerpt from Exodus + Cute Hospital Selfie
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