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lol |
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epicmegatrax i wrote a new theme song for your show epicmegatrax writes more bullshit. its called fart jazz. if u wanr to use it u need to pay some dolla billz ok? oh and the lyrics are "if u feel like some bullshit baby yeah, epic gotz u covered baby yeah" |
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i shared it low bit rate so u don't steal it ok? if u want the hi res i need to see the cash money first |
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i saw , and it got me thinking. casting hexagrams, perhaps? throwing a bunch of widgets at the floor, and using their configuration to predict the future. drinking a cup of tea, and seeing a pattern of leaves in the clouds at the bottom. your state of mind, obviously, influences how you drink your tea. how you tense and move when you cast hexagrams, widgets, how you sort the deck, or attempt not to, in tarot it's a way of setting up enough of a barrier of confusion that the conscious mind cannot color the reading (as much) with the ego's fussy hangups, i suppose. i also feel like it may be, in a sense, an externalization of the concept of metaphor. or perhaps what we did right before metaphors became a thing. sort of a bootstrap measure in between memorizing cause/effect couplings of increasing complexity |
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https://arstechnica.com/science/2019/08/archaeologists-disc overed-an-invaluable-cache-of-ritual-artifacts-at-pompeii/ |
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so, where were we? there was the thread. i got that slightly wrong, the guy who actually owned the condo was some random black dude he met in a park and the space cadet lady on ??? drugs was just black dude's girlfriend. but, yeah, he was just kind of crashing in their spare bedroom, and, while chill, it did not strike me as a stable situation. so, when he told me he found a place on craigslist, but he needed a little cash and help moving, the answer was: yes, sure. please do it the landlord was working on his mum's house, and... how to describe... a tall, muscular skinhead, of the stripe that will talk right up in your face and grab your arm for emphasis sometimes, thwack you in the chest to emphasize a point. living with this guy would drive me nuts. but lewis can handle him, i figure. the place is, like... he doesn't lock the door, because there are no windows in the front door, and you can just reach in and open the lock, so what's the fucking point? his bedroom is still full of tools and and arc welder so we tidy the room up and lug the mattress downstairs. i think: this is definitely a bit of a fix'r/uppr, but lewis can do whatever the fuck he wants here. indeed, he was perfectly allowed to chain-smoke cigarettes indoors, so i was kind of hoping it'd work. |
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things are calm for a week or two, then the radar blips. lewis calls me in a panic, asking if he can stay tonight. his sister called the cops because he was saying scary shit on the phone and landlord freaks out because he has a fine he didn't pay two states away? or something lewis crashes at my place for a night, things settle down, he goes back. i visit the next weekend, and baldyman landlord is clearly lit. later, once we're in the car, i ask: is that guy on coke? lewis is all, oh, no. but then, having lived there for a month and a half, the guy somehow conned lewis out of a bunch of cash, something to do with bad checks. i don't know the details. but i do feel kind of bad: some alarm bells went off in the back of my brain the moment i met this guy, and i should have listened. i just really wanted it to work out for lewis, and encouraged him to stick it out. i found this all out after the fact, since he randomly wasn't talking for me for two weeks. at that point, he was staying at some random chick's house just down the road from baldyjerk's house. he calls me up in quite a state, defcon 1, saying he needs to leave right now and can he come stay with me. yes, sure. he is absolutely convinced that his mom ate him as a baby, his mom eats babies, and then replaced him. wandering in and out of dissociation. he has zero attention span. we'll go out to smoke a zig, and he's off somewhere, he starts wandering down the front path to the driveway. "hey, where are you going?" he turns around and comes back. this situation repeats itself over and over. he's a bit better the next day, but i have work. i am terrified to leave him alone, but, fuck, i have to go to work. suffice to say that his day started off alright, then he went and had a beer at the bar around the corner, then off to a fire station because his mom was eating babies again and they gave him a lift to the hospital. |
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i got home from work, and i had no idea about any of this. he simply wasn't there. i'm freaking out, worried he's wandering around at night somewhere. call and text, no answer. from what i gather, a nurse at the ER saw my "are you ok? where are you?" texts flashing by and gave him back his phone, at which point he explained the situation. i was hugely upset. as tough as it is when he's like this, i was actually super-stoked that he would just be there when i got home. before, he was a 40-minute drive away, and that's tough to do after a 120 minute commute after a full day's work. the ER, mercifully, lets him out, and he gets an uber back. that weekend is super-tough, a marathon. at one point he goes out for a zig and i was... cleaning the sink in the bathroom, of all things... and then he's yelling and i had to run out and usher him back in before someone got freaked out and called the cops on him. because the yelling was about how they cut off his balls and were going to slit him from anus to sternum, because that's how you kill a god i should note, he would never hurt a fly. but he will absolutely yell freaky shit, and if you don't know he's harmless, you would be fucking freaked the fuck out. my job, at that point, is to listen to him, accept what he has to say (give it genuine consideration, thoughtful response, no lying allowed), and then try to lead his focus elsewhere, because he can't control his own focus. it's like trying to jump-start coherency. he's not in control of his train of thought, he needs someone else external to him to regularly bring his focus back to reality |
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give it genuine consideration, thoughtful response, no lying allowed this is exactly what is needed. you are a good and patient dude and he's lucky to have you in his corner. i can't really advise you without knowing him inside out, but listening is always a good thing. if you can get him to reason his way out of elements of the psychosis all the better. i'll be thinking of you two |
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by monday, he's significantly better, but i'm still terrified to leave him alone all day. not worried about my apartment, not worried about him burning the place down, just worried he'll get carted off to the hospital again. i contact his sister, one of his few remaining family members who is actually of help, and she agrees to give him a couple calls throughout the day. i do too, and, thank god, he was fine when i got back from work. tuesday, however, he locks himself out around noon, and i just think: he can't be stuck outside that long. so i get permission to work from home the rest of the day, shell out for an uber from the city, and thankfully, things are fine. unfortunately, he's still in such a state that i barely get any work done, because he's still apt to wander off. eventually, he realizes the key i gave him was in his back pocket the whole time, and he just thought he left it inside. throughout this, i am trying to inspire him to adapt some of my own coping methods. i introduce him to the moog grandmother, and that was an immediate success. he was glued to it for a half hour straight, just playing with noises. i also got him to actually focus on playing simcity 2000 for about the same amount of time. outside of moments like this, his attention span is, like, two seconds. so to see him get into something and focus was like... i dunno, i felt about how i imagine a parent feels when their kid first manages to ride a bike without help. throughout the week, things gradually improve. the outright dissociative craziness calms down, and it's mostly like he's on the phone all the time. "yeah. uh huh. nope." he's just talking with Them. he actually wears a phone headset when he's out so it appears like he's actually on the phone, even though he's not. |
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towards the end of the week he's actually starting to hack around on his computer again, which made me incredibly happy. not only was the dismal, oh just delete it, it'll never work, he's recompiling the kernel and fucking with bootloaders. despite all his issues, he's a talented hacker... or, he is when he has it together. mostly, it's just been incredibly rewarding to see him actually able to focus again. thursday, i gave him a call to check in, but i thought: he'll be fine. he was. worked from home friday and was actually able to get work done. midway through the week, he began calling me his boyfriend, and i had no argument with label whatsoever. it's been tough on me, exhausting -- that's why i haven't been posting here, much. but it's also gotten me to clean up my act quite a bit... cut back massively on alcohol, barely smoking any weed. going to bed early, getting up early. my attitude before was all... oh, why bother going to bed early? i just have work tomorrow, nothing special to get up for he reliably repays all the stressful moments with wonderful ones. this morning, we were outside, and he declares it the perfect weather to catch leaves. then we're running around, chasing falling leaves like a pair of little kids. i love him very much. |
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this is exactly what is needed. you are a good and patient dude and he's lucky to have you in his corner. i can't really advise you without knowing him inside out, but listening is always a good thing. if you can get him to reason his way out of elements of the psychosis all the better. i'll be thinking of you two thank you, i really appreciate it. i also deeply appreciate your advice earlier in this thread, and elsewhere. if he's past a point, telling him his delusions are wrong would just cause him to emphatically claim that yes, they are accurate -- with a look in his eye that eric andre has definitely mastered but it's more than that. i hate lying, i even dislike summarizing (because glossing over whole sections can add up to significant inaccuracy). even when we first started hanging out years ago, when i'd never seen him that far gone, it was still just my natural attitude. lending an ear, i've actually come to feel many of his delusions come from somewhere, even if the end result is fruit salad. like the thing with his mum eating babies, he'd told his mum he hated her and was feeling quite guilty about it, even after he apologized. after some discussion during more lucid moments about his mum and his feelings and her feelings i stopped hearing that one i go back to my analogy of consciousness being like the "warp core integrity" of star trek [tech]. it's not like he's either lucid or dissociated, it's a contiuum; a percentage. when he gets bad, things rapidly get worse, but when he's better, that forms a defense against things getting worse. best i can do is re-enforce his consciousness with my own. he will never be cured, best is remission, but that's good enough for me. |
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oh, poo. he gives me a call letting me know the cops called him on a wellness check. later he gives me a call to let him know the cops have picked him up. eventually it emerges that, in the midst of a (monday?) episode, he sent some government agency an incredibly bizarre email, and, as government agencies do, they followed up on it. four hours at the hospital, eventually i get him out. as soon as i get home, my landlady calls me freaking out. he scared children. the cops were here. he has to leave i trust the guy with a stove and knives when i'm out of the house, but my fear was always that he'd be yelling at voices outdoors and get carted off. now he's somehow managed to one-up himself, and bleh. i knew he was rough monday. he was apologizing profusely, admitted to yelling, but i suspect there was a part of him that knew there was worse to come. we both had rather intense dreams monday night that we discussed, and it oddly lined up with events, including when i put on the origin charlie and the chocolate factory at the end of the night and multiple elements in the movie that neither of us particularly remember correlated. thankfully he was able to go back to Drug Question Lady, but i do worry he'll shoot himself in the foot there like he did here; weird out the neighbors and force his host's hand. apartment feels rather empty, now. |
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aw man, sorry to hear that. at least he's got a roof over his head though, albeit with drug question lady. there's only so much you can do for him... is he taking / even prescribed an antipsychotic at the mo, or is he totally opposed to the idea? i can only really see him getting better with properly calibrated medication and a healthy routine |
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Oooh just shut the fuck up |
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what's yr problem dickslap? i'm not talking about you, "mo" in that post meant "moment" not "mohamed" if that's what yr upset about |
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he accepts the reality of what he has done in the past during breaks, but i hear him on the phone trying to land another place, and there are emphatic "that will never happen again" and stuff like that. i bring up his colossal email fail and he fully admits the reality of it but is adamant it will never happen again. asking something like "but what if it does?" really sets him off. it's really a raw nerve. it's actually quite a puzzle and i'm having a deep think |
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it almost feels like my old analogy: i am like an eighteen-wheeler being driven by a squirrel. is the squirrel driving the truck, or is the truck driving the squirrel? squirrel, consciousness. truck, emotion. continuing, i feel like the truck is driving the squirrel, with lewis. the emotionds make freud/id decisions and the rationality comes later. suggesting that he might send another stupid email is such a poignant question that he overloads and rejects reality to avoid a volcano of negative emotions. and substitutes his own |
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i've known a bunch of schizophrenics now, and it kinda tends to rub em the wrong way suggesting that they're not rational enough to know what theire next move is. which is understandable, but it's part of getting better to delegate some responsibility to doctors and meds, even though it's harsh on the ego. i don't know what you can do apart from be his friend, it's got to come from within him really |
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a smartwatch and some neural networks. watch reads biorhythms. a sufficiently nutty companion notes breaks, general mood. a neural network is trained to detect episodic patterns and trigger a smartphone intervention. get someone on the phone. then the neural network can be used to a neural network and the patterns in the patterns in the patterns monthly |
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you i'll be smileying |
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sei incomprensibile ultimamente. prendi le tue medicine per favore |
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mi fanno una siringa al mese |
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spero che funzioni per te, siamo stati preoccupati qui |
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smettetela di dire cazzate |
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coglione te e il tuo ego del cazzo |
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sospiro, ci ho provato. ok, vai a fottere il tuo cane, stronzo imbarazzante |
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xlt readershi: if you can't be bothered translating just imagine two moustachioed plumbers gesticulating at each other |
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stai zitto |
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stronzo |
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scherzo, fffff |
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aaaugh. Drug Question Lady has unfolded. indeed, there was more. lewis, i suspect, knew, and blamed it on the alchohol -- which yes, most of it probably is -- but then, no she also liked crack, and the guy she was dating that set lewis up there brought crack back in after she hadn't done it in a while but at the same time the crack guy was super nice, went out on a limb for lewis multiple times, called his mum to let him know lewis was ok. i was actually kind of gobsmacked because, to my knowledge, he had not done one shitty thing besides borrow a bit much money and you'd expect a crackhead to do much worse. so you can understand, hearing Drug Question Lady unload that on me tonight, i was like, djfhgkjdfg wtf |
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honestly it's like the set of a bad play over there she's laid up in bed for days at a time. there is a foul-tempered cat with mottled fur she is snipping at with scissors. she cries about the death of her son, for five or ten seconds, before apologizing and speaking about something else. her son died, if i caught it correctly, of klonopin and booze, despite mostly preferring heroin. the wall was speckled with white like clouds where her son had punched holes in the walls. lewis talked about how perhaps he could fix it. sand this, move that. he's always had this amazing optimism. |
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she was going to get her morning coffee and she tripped over her son's dead body and she just knew he was dead not really what i expected to hear i have to say |
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i am playing deus ex: hunan chickoloution. and god does this game do my hed in. quicksave tangent story epic for explosive organic reaction composite |
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oh man i'm outta my depth advice-wise when it comes to crack. only known a few guys at the homeless shelter who were into it and yeah they were pretty sketchy. apart from one guy actually, he always had a lot of grime recommendations and better weed than other ppl there so i'd buy from him if i could. 1000 yard stare is putting it mildly tho i hate to be "that guy" but is lewis gonna be tempted to get into all the crack, heroin, benzos etc? cos i would not advise that |
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Drug Question Lady and Crack Man broke up; Crack Man is "in New York," which could be said for a lot of people. Even here, however, he was decent, and essentially brokered Lewis's return to Drug Question Lady's spare bedroom. Despite being separated and out of state and smoking crack, he still called up Drug Question Lady and put her back in touch with Lewis. Drug Question Lady said: i'd been off crack for ages, and he brought it back in, that's part of why it's over. that she more or less said it's shit, she's over it, because you're always chasing and it's shit meanwhile, thankfully, no, i seriously doubt lewis would touch it. he's told me of a phase he went through before we met during which he did shitloads of cocaine. occasionally he'll joke we should go get some, with perhaps a distant wisp of seriousness, but then we're both "oh, nah, fuck that shit." so, i would be a bit worried if it were coke instead of crack, but it's not, and Drug Question Lady seems to prefer sobriety -- or, relative sobriety. she has a zillion pill bottles by her bed and was on about how the shit off the street is poison and why bother when she has this crap so, the portrait of her continues to evolve: history of crack usage (i should have known from the voice), alcoholism, likely pharmaceutical involvement. frankly, i spent a bit over there on sunday, and her memory seemed on-point. she was not asking the same questions every two minutes, and i think what i saw before was the sundown of some crack smoking combined with booze. benzos, i dunno. in the mental hospital he'd pester them for ativan sometimes, but i honestly think that was out of sheer boredom and he's never really shown any interest in 'em otherwise my worries are actually quite modest: if he has three or four beers, he may send another stupid letter to a government agency, or freak out the neighbors yelling at his voices. weed won't immediately put him in it, but he's right down the road from a dispensary and if he smokes his face off t |
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hat can also cause incidents. heroin, fuck no, he was never into opiates and has spoken about length about how drugs that can make you stop breathing terrify him |
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long term i think if we could rent a house, that would probably hold together if certain prerequisites are met: like, we both have to quit cigarettes, and i have to spend another couple months paying off debt and saving some cash. my real concern is that his living situation will fall apart within a month or two for whatever reason and beyond what he's got right now i have a hard time pulling some other suitable temporary situation out of my behind. he has housing and assistance through the state and the VA but a lot of requires "medication compliance" and he a rather inflexible "i'm not taking meds, i'm not going back to the hospital" attitude. this is fine for now, but if he's backed into a corner with nowhere to live unless he takes meds then he is definitely liable to make some very bad decisions. part of it is childish posturing; he's all "oh, i'll just go to a shelter" and this upset me until his sister told me he's been threatening that for ages and never actually carries through. it's mostly just his -- to use his phrase -- "cavalier attitude towards life" that causes him to make massively over-optimistic assumptions that worries me. he won't go to a shelter, but he will blindly assume that he won't mess this situation up, that it will just be stable, and even if he doesn't mess it up, i cannot say how stable it really is and then what |
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it's a tough situation. what exactly is his complaint with the (prescribed) medication? is it side effects like weight gain n limp dick or does he not want to lose some of the voices? who exactly does he believe they are - govt technology, aliens, people he knows? i'm just thinking, if he's got insurance he can negotiate for a better drug regimen, or if he wants to take back control of the voice-hearing i have some tips, although obviously for me it's been combined with the meds good to hear he won't be too tempted by crack n smack, and ativan is pretty mild if he doesn't make a habit of it. weed is a temptation for me too but by this point he must recognise it's bad news for us schizos |
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there is no specific complaint. however, i feel his general attitude. i was one of those children who kept disrupting class, and i was put on adderall by my pediatric doctor, who simply followed the standard practices of the early 90s. i got the 2-inch stack of medical history from my compulsively documentary pop when i was old enough, and i could look it up, but that pile of papers still makes me want to hit things, so i won't. suffice to say that i eventually got transferred to some svengali bastard who was the subject of an entire chapter in the generally-ignored scandal regarding the off-label use of risperdal. because i was, like, disruptive and moody, i was put on a powerful anti-psychotic intended for schizophrenics, along with a second, more obscure one for, i dunno, parity. i got to college and tried pot and alcohol, and psychedelics interested me. but, i read, risperdal would fight with 'em. i stopped taking the other med -- serzone -- first. nothing blew up. after a few weeks, i stopped taking the risperdal. then, differences were apparent. i began having far more "oh my god, trees are so pretty" moments. it did destabilize me somewhat, but if i'd never been on it in the first place, there would not have been any such discontinuity. lewis was also on risperdal for a bit. contrary to my experience, where i sort of grew up with it in part, he got to experience what it did to him as a full adult, directly. truth be told, i would be happy if he decided to take meds. he's dealing with way more than i ever had to. however, to the day i day, i will defend his right to make that decision for himself. it's not an issue to me. the "well, and then what" is more on my mind |
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there is the divide between mood-stabilizers and anti-psychotics. the latter alters your personality a lot more than the former. i have lost weeks, even months of my life at a time due to depression. just lying in bed all day, because, fuck it. i have this increasingly urgent sense that lewis has the same condition, but with another layer on top: whereas i was subsumed by the dismal feelings, he has rejected ownership of them and it's been cleaved off between his bubbly positive self and some cold daemons screaming impending reality at him |
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if you look up current schizophrenia canon, it goes back to early womb development; an issue with the density of neural connections. gut sense it's almost an inverse of the issues that cause autism. too wild, too OCD, etc. with 95% of normal humans in between. previous civilizations did both better and worse with all this. ancient greece, you'd either be a contender for the oracle of delphi or clubbed over the head with a rock; left to die the rest of exposure. the issue of what to do with unwanted babbies has fostered mankind's creativity for generations now, capitalism rules. it's rather annoying. i have zero anxiety about leaving lewis alone all day with, like, knives and a gas stove. it's just the reactions of other freaking people that cause friction, and jesus christ does it make me want a quiet house in the middle of nowhere because if we're not buried in other fucking idiots then problems will have enough room to air out naturally |
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i hear ya. antipsychotics are not to be taken lightly and overprescription is scandalous, especially in merica. it must be hard to "recommend" something like risperidal if you've had yr childhood / teens blunted by it but if he's suffering with the voices badly enough to be screaming at them, i would advise he give them another try. risperidal stopped my voices full stop for about 18 months when i was at the shelter, and it was only missed doses and drug and alcohol abuse that brought em back. if he knows full well he can get to the point where his condition is gonna put his house / flat / whatever at risk he needs to seriously consider the meds. i think they may bring him peace, and it's usually worth trading mana and positive schizo fun for peace in the long run |
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i mean, not everyone is a spike milligan |
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*mania not mana but you got that i guess and i think spike milligan was bipolar not schizophrenic, but my point is not everyone can feed creatively on their mental health issue, i know i can't. lewis is another programmer, right? |
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it must be hard to "recommend" something like risperidal if you've had yr childhood / teens blunted by it but if he's suffering with the voices badly enough to be screaming at them, i would advise he give them another try. risperidal stopped my voices full stop for about 18 months when i was at the shelter, and it was only missed doses and drug and alcohol abuse that brought em back. if he knows full well he can get to the point where his condition is gonna put his house / flat / whatever at risk he needs to seriously consider the meds. i think they may bring him peace, and it's usually worth trading mana and positive schizo fun forpeace in the long run before, however, you also said this: i've known a bunch of schizophrenics now, and it kinda tends to rub em the wrong way suggesting that they're not rational enough to know what theire next move is. which is understandable, but it's part of getting better to delegate some responsibility to doctors and meds, even though it's harsh on the ego. i don't know what you can do apart from be his friend, it's got to come from within him really after that, i thought: shit, shit, he's right. i immediately thought of how my mum would be all "but what if it happens again" and even just the tone of voice would massively trigger me i've said as much to him as what you just posted: if it's this bad, maybe meds are the lesser evil. no, nope. meanwhile, there was cocaine over there last night, and he did some, and meeeh. he actually seemed less depressed today, but i worry about him being around that. bad news bears worse is that some neighbors have more or less threatened to call the cops if they ever see him around my place again, and he's always begging me to come over. i finally caved and called my landlady about it and it was not a succinct, "no, he can never come over again" but not much better at "the neighbors might call the cops if they see him, and if they do, i very well might kick you out." ugh. because he |
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scared children, she's a threat, she tells me. what if you had children? wouldn't you be scared? i am unable to formulate a reply: i am literally thinking, 'the older i get, the less i want to deal with kids. i like to drink, smoke pot and cigs. i enjoy privacy and free time. i despise having to censor myself for someone's kids -- fuck off, they're not mine. church parking lot next door is always full of screaming kids; obnoxious. i could turn this all around and say, `what if it was your child dealing with this situation, wouldn't you push through and keep trying to help?` but this would get me fuckall and ok she's still going on' ..."i think you would be scared if you had kids." all this crap happened when i left him alone at my place because i had to go to work, during the first few days when he was really fucking out of it. by the time i had him calmed down to reality, it was too late, all the previous incidents had become a coiled snake waiting to strike, and then his stupid drunk email set everything off mostly, i am dreading trying to explain this to him. thus far he's been coping well, but i fear breaking this news. i fear depression and ennui and if he stops trying now his current living situation will gradually degenerate and so will he. augh i can't move, really, until i've paid off some more debts. i want to live with him, he always wants to come over, but if the neighbors call the cops, i could get kicked out. i rather like it here, was going to just try and renew, but i dunno if she'll even want me after all this crap (or just jack up the rent unapologetically). my own life is barely in order; need more time. and, yes, what if we moved somewhere and he managed to blow that up too he means it when he says he'll never do that again, and i know he tries his best. i can tell he feels awful about what happened; he's calling me up in tears at 5am worried i don't love him anymore. i will always, but this situation is rather complex |
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the whole situation blows, i really feel for you both. him because i know how hard it is when yr in a delusional state, you cos there kinda has to be a point where you keep him at a distance here. it's not gonna help things to lose yr place, and you don't want to end up resenting him just because yr landlady lacks empathy the coke, though... bad news. i'm not one to moralize over drugs n booze, but it's unlikely to be positive for his mental state. if you do end up living together i would let him know that yr keeping it a coke-free zone. by all means he can go over to drug question lady's place and do it there, it's his body, but you wanna keep yr house a little cleaner imo |
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my third exactly |
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