Not now.

Ugh anger.

Shit shit shit music out loud not so fun. But trying to focus on writing things here now like this, with the music in my hears distracting me, that is pluso for some reason. I say that a lot. For some reason.

I am starting to panic. I’m angry already and it’s not even noon. We are playing tennis today this afternoon with baby brother who will show up from the netherparts of his funded apartment. Not sure why I have the urge to spell apartment “appartment”. It seems more right. I don’t know.

There’s so much nothing in my life. Is this the problem? That I can generate trains of thought and actualities out of pure, utter void? “What is wrong with me?” or something like that? Underentertained? Education?

Well anyway I had a great breakfast.

I don’t know what to do. I’m panicking. It’s 11:48 AM. I don’t know what to do.

Things ought to happen faster.

And of course, I and everything I write is abhorrent stupidity. Which is nice. Good to self-recognize. Ah. Yes. In any case.

Some people, man. Some people. Mega shits.

I don’t know what I should be doing. It’s Sunday around noon.

I ate. Brunch.

I guess I will play another game of chess then talk to mother. Life sure is insipid, though. Sundays ought to be for relaxation. I had 1.5 mg klonopin and I’m panicking. These drugs, man. Nothing works.



Well. How to start this. I’m noticing blimpses of my old writing tact returning. Not much, but enough. Enough to start. I was very entertaining as a writer. In college. When I had a job in a Drosophila lab and went home–ugh this music is so distracting. What was I saying?


Books. Books about computers. Computers about books. Laying there, uninterested in the scene. Something gets shoved somewhere. I take Citrucel and chamomile tincture (non-alcoholic) for my indigestion/bloating for now. I ordered some Pepto-Bismol should get here today. Recommended a proton pump inhibitor (read: a biochemical antacid–protons in liquid phase = acid (is that not fascidnating?)) by my physician, but independent research (and not even much) states that that increases the plasma concentration of escitalopram. Sort of like drinking!

Sent msg to psychochiatrist. No reply–out of office (OOO). Pecs weak. Wrinkly torso. Getting fat. Getting fat.

It’s not just, what I was going to say, what I was going to say, it’s not just the clarity and message of my writing. It’s not just about what I want to say. It is also about the musicality and artfulness fartfulness of the writing. And sometimes, recently, it has been there. You’re probably very confused.

With my statements.

As they are wantonly false.

Won-ton Lee.

The next great ninja.

Amazon replaced my broken SD cards within the blink of an eye, without me even sending them back the broken ones. And one of the broken ones, well, they’re not broken, they’re corrupt! Which is so much more fun. You get to plug it in and watch the chaos shitstorm of errors and warnings pop up. Linux.

Told ya.

Did not did not did not drink not drink last night. Did not!

Does Kimbra quinn do all her own vocals?


“Inb4u” or some such. Not sure.

Very hungry for breakfast. Must play the citar before anyone shows up. The pork is roast and the grapes are dire. I have no hope. My music is lost.

Whoa. S-s-suddenly all highlighting is red. (Cherry red-orange.) I haven’t used Chrome in a while, but good novel web design really fruits my tuits. Lava lava lava, yes, I do enjoy a good use of the CSS language. Who does not.

I don’t have much student loan left. I paid most of it off. Left a little in case something something Biden partial forgiveness etc. etc.

And if not–I guess coronavirus will just permanently in effect do the same thing? *shrugs like a baby*

Well. I should probably go itt brickfist. But like I said with the indigestion. It makes it hard 2 food. Even hard 2 good frood. What painful existence. So short, so brief, the pining for forthhood. Albeit scrum, some dumplings, later, wouldn’t want anything less.

Yeah well my tact may return eventually. That would be sorely nice. To have an art to the writing.

Apparently the pet cat is dying of a cold. Hmm. Mom’s worried. That’s it?

More later. Must explore the food options.


Everything feels so insipid. I feel so dead. Everything is like… like in The Book of Disquiet. Running through the motions, never really feeling anything, doing the do–except possibly even worse. I went through some motions to try to get my Cisco router working and posted for help on the network engineering stack exchange. I don’t know. There’s so much I don’t know. I wish I could just get a job and know what I know, do what I do, and not have any problems anymore. Motivation, depression, psychosis–all things of the past. It’s difficult to say. It’s difficult to breathe. During times like these, who doesn’t worry?


You’d think I would want to take online courses to educate myself in my specialty and elsewise disciplines, both for cognitive satisfaction and to make myself more competitive in the job market.

But that’s not really how it works. Sitting still through a 15 minute video, paying that close attention to information that dense, is torture.

What is wrong with me what is wrong with me what is wrong with me.

Well anyway.

Played a few rounds of MTG with brother. We traded games; he won a few, I won a few.

I should write some more poetry at some point. Can’t force it, though. I have no idea what is going on with our poetry group. The dude didn’t contact me, hasn’t contacted me, in months. He recruited like ten people to be a part of the journal so honestly, I don’t know what’s going on.

On that subject, I did recently write 5 complete pages of poetry and submitted it to a few mags. I should probably submit it elsewhere, as well. I can’t publish it here because that counts as publishing, and then it’s not legal for journals. Sorry. And by here I mean on, my poetry blog. If you dig deep enough in there there’s some mental breakdowns of mine as well, though; from long ago. I don’t know. It took me a while to organize the two blogs and finalize that this one was for personal venting and the other was exclusively for poetry.

So many douchebags on the internet. What can I say.

Listening to music on headphones is a totally different experience. Today is so much better than yesterday. I just need to make it like, another hour with no drinking, and go to bed, and it’ll be chill. Hopefully I sleep tonight. I’ll take melatonin and have some Sleepy Time tea to help with that, if I don’t fall asleep naturally. I’m feeling a little energetic and it’s–oh wait it’s only 8. So yeah, in two hours, is what I meant. 11 is my target bed time. Kinda late but oh wellz. So yeah. There’s sleepaids and such. Not strong ones (I mean there are, but I don’t have any a’ those), but still helps.

Guess I’ll play a few games of chess, even though I fucking hate chess.

The absolute worst part of all of this? Having to twist your own arm to do things. Nothing feels natural anymore. I hate everything, I don’t want to do anything, and for some reason I keep getting preached at that you have to do things, you have to do things to be a valid human being, a valid acceptable living organism. Which is absolute horseshit. You are valid no matter how little or much you do. Absolutely you are. But if you want to survive and you find you are capable of twisting your own arm, and it’s not too painful, I mean, that is sort of an option. Not a pleasant one but an option nonetheless.

So yeah blah blah blah me talking about nothing more or less as usual. Thanks for listening.


The other thing, besides the intense anger and mood swings and delusions, is a total (or almost total, if you want to be more accurate) lack of empathy. I don’t feel a connection to anyone–friends (I’ve decided I have a few still), family, fellow bloggers, fellow poets, professional connections. I don’t feel a human connection anymore. It’s harrowing. It’s absolutely gut-wrenching. To be so empty and devoid of love. I don’t know. I pride myself on being somewhat logical and cool-headed (minus the fits of rage these days), but, not feeling affinity for relationships kind of is like being stabbed through the heart by an icicle. Eh. I dunno. I blame my meds, as usual, for wiping out so many neurotransmitters or blocking receptors or whatever the fuck it is they do. I don’t know.

I don’t know if any of you have ever had an issue like this. I won’t ask, as I don’t want to pressure anyone into talking when they don’t want to, but… yeah. It’s lonely. Really lonely. Like, surrounded by people you love and who love you, and not feeling a damn thing. Man. Wow.

In any case.


It’s just like, I don’t know. What’s the point in anything. I need to get a job just to survive, but I’m so scarred and demotivated from my previous experience, and the rate of my studies (i.e. zero) that it’s hard to imagine me caring enough, or at all, about tasks in a professional setting in order to earn a paycheck. Even if it is something cognitively stimulating like developing algorithms or analysing high throughput data. My brother is just a better person than me. I don’t know what to say. I’m hopeless. I’m a weight on the family’s shoulders, I’ll never be successful again, and basically this is just my life from now on. Nothing’s ever going to change.

They made shishkebobs downstairs for 4th of July. We live in the U.S. so we like to use this day of patriotism as an excuse to cook some nice food. I guess many people do. Some people actually feel patriotic on this day.

I just feel like so many bad things are my  fault. Some of my favorite bloggers on here have left or haven’t shown their faces in years, and I feel like it’s my fault. I’m a toxic person spewing toxic bullshit ruining the mood and atmosphere of this place. I don’t know why people follow me. I feel terrible for who I am.

I don’t want to force the positivity. It’s a drain and just not worth it. It kills you in the end, eats you inside out. Unless you really are dying of a mood disorder. But I won’t talk about that.

I don’t know what to say. We didn’t end up going for a hike (all too lazy) but we’ll go for a walk through the neighborhood and then my brother and I will play cards.

That’s about it.

I don’t know what to say.


Playing some chess. Ordered some pepto-bismol for my indigestion. Not being able to burp is way more terrible than it sounds. All that bloating! Ugh. Horrible.

Listening to some music on my headphones. Haven’t done that in a while. On the headphones, I mean.

I’m really really really sorrry I’m such a bitch on here. It’s really not cool. But as usual I feel like my apologies are meaningless b/c it keeps happening.

Anyway I deleted some inappropriate comments on other social media sites.

I don’t know what to do. I’m kind of… like, the first step to depression. Barely floating, but not that bad. Kind of dead inside. Drinking lots of coffee to stay afloat. Trying to force myself to listen to the music and engage my mind in the chess. I don’t really feel engaged but I guess even if you don’t feel it, it is so. It is such. Thus it is pronounced. Husband and wife, to eternity.

Whatever do I mean.

Ah well.


It’s kind of interesting that a lot or possibly all the meds I was placed on I was placed on when I was still on or tapering from kratom. So it’s like, who knows maybe I’m not even crazy and they just were treating the side effects of the drug? So like now, possibly, I would only need a small dose of say, abilify, and nothing else? I don’t know. My delusions are pretty bad sometimes though. So I’m not sure.

I have an apt with my therapist on Monday morning followed immediately by an apt with the pharmacist to check up on how the risperdal taper is going. I’d say it’s going terribly but I still need to do it! The akathisia is absolutely not tolerable; it’s as bad as having lucid waking nightmares. Restlessness can can can be that bad, folks.

Don’t think I need to be on the SSRI. I’ve never been depressed. I’m not sure why they put me on that in the first place. Oh wait; it was for anxiety. Well yeahhhh but that easily could’ve been a side effect of the risperdal. See how fucked it is? Sigh.

Well anyway therapy, beyond all the medication adjustments, should also help. So that’s good. Looking forward to that. I wasn’t able to meditate like the therapist asked, so I guess I might get scolded, but probably not. He has a lot of tricks up his sleeve; he outlined my treatment plan and sent it to me and it’s tres comprehensif. Which is grand. Just gran. Not sarcastic, actually. I’m that screwed in the head. Really, do need a comprehensive therapy plan.

But as of now, nothing seems pleasurable. Adult entertainment is usually not worth it, games, TV, Twitch, music, books, all kind of… I don’t know. Reading would be really nice if I could force myself to do it but I’m just too angry. I don’t know. Coffee seems to be the only thing that cheers me up. Which is a little horrifying b/c obviously I will develop a dependance.

I’m not even apologizing for my insanity and verbal abuse in the evenings on here anymore. It’s just so fucked and routine that it’s like, what do I do? What are apologies worth if it happens every night? I don’t know, guys. I don’t know what to do. But I guess I am doing things, and the right things. Now I just need to figure out how to exercise. I guess mom bro and I may go for a hike… wait, that’s in half an hour! Oh gee. Kind of want to nibble on some smoked salmon and cheese before we leave, tho. I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m tired of this trail we always go on, I miss vaping, and just, anhedonia sucks. Anhedonia sucks. Ugh.

Thanks for following. Hope my stupidity and belligerence are at the least… entertaining and laughable. I don’t know.


It’s the morning. Delusions of torture not any longer. Stayed in bed since like 7 or 8 PM yesterday, not neccessarily asleep but at least pseudo-resting. Why I have to dance and dodge all this malice from my family all the time is beyond me. I wish my meds worked. Stomach problems from bum fucking one single cup of coffee this morning, already. I just can’t enjoy anything good anymore.

I wish there was something to talk about but there’s nothing to talk about. It’s always the daily day-to-day stuff. Which is not much. I haven’t found a job yet. The poetry thing is probably kaputsky; no one’s contacted me about it in over a month. Family’s gonna go to the park today and grill. I will join them. Somehow it’s not as bad when in person. Or when doing things. I don’t know if that’s an accurate statement but oh well.

Needles in the spine. Then they tell me to calm down. Man. Shittin’ ridiculous.

Well anyway. At least I’m not like depressed or, whatever, grieving. Anger’s not so pleasant but there’s worse. Pain is pain is pain. There’s always pain to be had. No changing or stopping that. I just don’t know what to do with most of my time, which seems to kind of possibly contribute to the whole charade? Not sure. Anyway. I guess that’s it.


Yeahp. Malicious pricks at my throat again. I could itemize the violent behavior but that too is a hassle. Mom’s super malicious. Mega pressures people into things. Never learned to behave I guess. She’s watching a movie in the dead baby’s room. Brother’s, y’know, the usual, a dumbass. Dad’s on the sofa downstairs shoving needles into my spine. I’m upstairs. I don’t like this place or these people. I need to move.